Personal Renaissance

The end is nigh…

Almost reaching the predicted and assumed destination. Feeling like a sprint with overwhelming hurdles to jump over. A decathlon, hell yes long distance triathlon even. I am not as excited as I wanted or used to be. I wanted to be excited, God knows I am, but those enthusiasm faded by time. Lost its color, smell and taste. The sense of gripping it the first time is as good as letting go in the end.  

You know the feeling when you finish your favourite TV show marathon on its final season and suddenly you are left hanging empty. What’s left is recurrent thought questioning your purpose of existence.

I used to be too engrossed reading To Kill A Mockingbird that by the end of it I was left confounded not knowing what else to do. Good read always do that to you. That void you used to stuff yourself with hedonistic, momentary high, anticipation and short-live endorphins bingeing, that left you questioning the entire emotional journey you’ve been through. That void is still there, like an infinite sinkhole consuming its insatiable greed.

This is it, end of the line. Cross that line win or lose at least you got to finish whatever your almost thirty years existence meant to be. “Start (your life from) here”, figuratively written on snakes and ladders board game. At times you’ve been fucked hard by those serpents, at times you climbed those ladders and almost reached your goal. Destiny decided by a rolling dice. Mountain of frustrations. Trials and tribulations.

Dice offers you one sixth chance to further while the rest are five ways to screw you. Russian roulette seem merciful in comparison. In a six rounds revolver you chance of not blowing your heads off is five in six. Now how generous is that than a flip of coin; you either live or die at one toss.

My current situation is like replaying those excruciating moment finishing Virginia Woolf’s “Mrs Dalloway”, in the end you kind of rushing through pages unwilling to register any words. Merely scheming. You just want it to end so fast to justify your purchase. By the last word you just close it and throw it away muttering to self “The fuck did I just read,” no satisfaction in it.

By the end of this, you can finally be someone or something you long to be, your transpired dream they say. But like running cross-country marathon, those concluding distance towards the finish line is the outmost ordeal you have to face.

Like Stockholm syndrome, you grown to love this situation that always kept you over the edge. Those humiliation, those hopelessness, those future threatening moments. Liberation seemed incapacitating, compliment means nothing. Too grown in fondness of pain that  gratification equals nil.

Was I callous or am I masochistic.

This is it, here and now.